The Pyro
by cheeselord
Summary: Drabbles, thats what they are, stillborn histories that ended as drabbles. May as well post them, maybe some other will find them interesting or a source of inspiration. Anyway, they are Female-Pyro-centered, hope you like them.
1. Chapter 1

The other looked at the inmaculated white ceiling. Before the treatment they took her face away, she was not longer Pyro but the other, laying in that bed, her hands and feet straped and the steady sound of the machines monitoring her status. Now she was Ann, the other, the mask. With nothing more to do she watched the ceiling, by now probably the whole team knew of this mask, such a shock it was. the sound of the door opening at her left side distracted her of this musings, the steady and quiet footsteps of a person coming close, the sound of a chair been moved to the side of her bed, the rummaging of clothes.

-No hello?-

-Spy- the word rolled out of her tounge with venom, he was the one at fault for this mess, for them to take away her face.

-Are you going to do another scene mon cheerie?-

I made the motion to rise my arms; the straps stopped me just a few centimeters up the bed, i moved my head and looked directly at his eyes . A snarl i didnt noticed was in my face.

-I get it, I get it, no need to make such an ugly face- he took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth-I really do cheerie-

I hummed in sad understanding. He probably did, using a sky mask all the time and with the busnisses of changing face every day. It was a sad thing the only one who understood was this strange fellow.

-You caused such a ruckus, the good doctor and I had a hard time constraining you- he materialised my face from his suit and left it on the nightstand beside my bed: it was an ugly sight. Its right eye was broken, the filter was rendered usless, the whole thing was cracked and had scratches here and there, one piece of it was missing, making the filter cling to the the hole it was supposed to go, like if it was bareley holding in place. -He says we should keep you sedated but i know best- Still he didnt untied me.

I ignored the comment as i looked to my face, laying centimeters away and just aout of my reach. the spy seemed to note this.

-The doctor thinks you should use it less along with the suit, for health issues he says, I also think it is no good that such a _belle fille_ should use that ugly thing-

-It is not ugly!- I was screaming. How could it be ugly?

-No need to get touchy, ah?-

-And im not a beautiful girl-

-Oohh, the petit fille knows french?-

-With you spewing word after word, one or two gets stuck-

-True, true... merde-

I diverted my glance from my face to the visitor, he was still rummaging his clothes.

-What, got lice?- I mocked him

-I forgott my lighter- he said, ignoring the comment.

-At the drawer in the nightstand-

He looked at me quizzally, understadment comming to his face some seconds after. He opened the drawer and there it sttod my only belongin i had been carrying at the moment of being injured, the one that was suited for the medical bay thats it. A lighter stood there beside a book, probably jus a detail of the medic so the patients didnt get to impatient. I doubdet anyone read it.

-Oh, merci- the flame lighted a little infront his face and danced in the air, he took little breaths and let out puffs of smoke, then the flame was out and in its place stood the slowly burning cigarrette. A small payment for bringing my face.

-I told the doctor to keep the secret- he began, now little clouds of smoke rising to the air. I didnt liked to smoke but even though i was recovering i didnt dispised it. The other liked to smoke for some time, before she crashed into the world and the fire came to bring the relief that smoking did once upon a time and that now was insufficient.

-It wasnt hard to convince him, as the implications of the other "teamates" sniffing around and getting under your skin was not a pretty one- Another breath, another puff of smoke- It is good to know another person in this charade besides me has brains. He would get nagged around but i belive he can get them out of his hair-

Silence. The cigarrete is consumed and the clouds of smoke rise in the air. The medic will get angry knowing the Spy smoked in his clinic. I dont care for anything of this. A question is in the back of my mind. The spy knew, I'm sure of it. Hell, he must know what color of pantys the other one uses on my free days. But yet he said nothing, even when there were bets regarding my appearance and even one or two about my humanity. It was good money. I even suspect he hepled me maintain my privacy and was on my side for the whole time, even before this unfortunate event.

-You knew?-

-Uh?-

-All this time you knew-

-Of what, if i can ask?-

-The face-

-Ah, oui after all it is my job to know-

-Why?-

-Please elaborate mon cheerie-

-Why you keept it a secret?-

-There was no good reason to tell the others-

-The bets?-

-Punny money i dont need-

-The fun-

-Its funnier to watch the fools try to guess your looks. The scout stills believes you have tentacles on your chin-

-Why?-

-...- he remained in silence, leaved my lighter on the nightstand and got up his chair. He offered some cigarretes to me and i declined, then he walked towards the door. I resumed to look at the ceiling as i understood he was not answering; it was part of this shady caracter he was playing. The sound of the door opening told me he was going out but the steps stopped. I diverted my glance to him and discovered the strap on my left hand was untied. When did he do that?

-I told you- he spoke without looking at me- I do understand-

-Now dont burn down the good doctor clinic woud you?- he added with amusment on his voice.- He would not find it funny-

Baffled as i was i could not respond as the door closed behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The emotion that have permeated most of her life. It was fear she felt most of her childhood.

The room was pitch black. No moon, no stars, no lights even the dim light of street faroles seeping through the window seemed a foreign idea. It was also so very silent. No whispers of teamates doing late night activities, of crazed experiments, of a texan voice cursing about a failed machinery or a insuferable bostonian rambling; there was only the sound of one unneverved breathing as a pair of nevous eyes searched the room trying to see trough the darkness and at the same time afraid of doing so, of finding the very object of their search. The air was getting hevier, polluted with an unknown gas making lungs feel sickly, eyes itchy, sking crawl. A fumbling hand in the darkness, searching security, searching a shield against this onslaught of fear. Clumsy fingers tinkered with the gasmask, its shape too familiar, as they put it on. And then it was over, the feelings reeceded, keept at bay by the piece of equipment, fear gave place to calmed and calculated movements. The lighter was between two hands before the owner of said limbs knew it was there. A fumbling in the dark, an almost unperceivable movement of shadows and a muffled sound of moving feet. The little flame tore the darkness, its light a beacon in the sea of shadows that was the night. A surprised yelp suffocated by the black material of the mask, fear frezing every limb. there was someone else, something, in the room, standing at the end of the bed, its back turned to the one occuping it, a siluette that remained undefined in the dim light of the fire and the tinted lenses. It was sobbing, lamenting between wheezes and mumbling words. It seated on the bed, its occupant trying to get as far from it as possible without leaving the relative safeness of the mantresses. It did nothing, it just continued sobbing in the middle of a moonless night as the spectator of such bizzarre occuring stared at it, words caught in throat, stilled by the fear of provoking the thing at the end of the bed. And then the sobbing stopped. Oh dear lord, it was worst than the creepy and eerie lament; the silence. Shaking in fear; the thing is turning around, it would reveal itself. The though of attacking first before this unknown threat never crosses the mind of the masked one. The thought of the shade revealing its face is more frigthening that the one of it attacking. the shacky fingers cannot take more preassure, they start to tremble too much loosing their grasp of the lighter and it falls into the sheets, renderind the room black. Nervous, even desperate hands search for it, to set the flame on once more and rebuild that fragile wall that seems to keep at bay the monstrousity. The light goes on. It is still there, but the face, god, the face. There is none. A black hole stands there where eyes nose and mouth should be, even the light of the fire is shallowed by it, the flesh around it dissorted and sucked up. A scream pierce the night. A terrible scream emmanating from a mouth that is not there, drilling into the ears of the other occupant of the room.

Pyro wakes up frightened, eyes looking around in a crazed need to prove the security of the room hasnt been breached, a scream that refused to go out in fear of alerting something in the dark. but there is nothing, the pitch black room of the dream gives place to the dim lighted room of the real world. There is the white light of the moon filtering trhough the window and the one from a small lava lamp, a gift from Engie. Pyro silently thanks the texan, the trinket is fun to watch and now its light dissolves the nightmare. A clock marks the hour; 6:30 AM. The gasmask goes on, Pyro would not sleep againg, the nightmare has chasen away al drowsines. After suiting up the mercenary leaves the room and goes to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly the Soldier is up but he is not in his normal selft; the whacky, rudious sommewhat crazed normal. the knwoledge of his perturbed solitude dont seem to be registered as Pyro moves to the gabinets, a cup of cold coffee laying umperturbed on the hands of the soldier.

-Sometimes they catch up, eh?- he says, breaking the silence.

Pyro just humms a response. Neither of them elaborate an answer, there is no need. the sizziling of beacon and eggs being cooked returns in some manner the sense of normallity to the mercenaries; somewhere outside the windowless kitchen the sun is rising and chasing away the night


End file.
